Lost
by laurydory
Summary: Hawkeye's learning about himself, Margaret's learning about life and BJ is just plain grumpy. A dramatic series of events leads to a bit of self discovery for our favourite officers. Please review. I love them. I'm addicted.
1. Chapter 1

Initially it was the noise that woke him but it was the mouthful of hair that prevented a blissful relapse into unconsciousness. Figuring that both the thumping in his head and the fuzz in his mouth must be symptoms of the night before and therefore, could both be remedied by a glass of lighter fluid from the still, Hawkeye forced his heavy eyes open.  
Groggy with sleep and, well - grog, he struggled to comprehend the situation.  
He wasn't in his tent. The pounding in his head _was _alcohol related; the hair in his mouth was only too real. Okay, so that wasn't much of a surprise, drinks in the officer's club almost inevitably led him to the soft arms and warm bed of a nurse. Just not this nurse.  
If any woman was off-limits, he'd have bet good money it was this one.  
_What happened last night…how many drinks did I have… how many drinks did SHE have!  
_Looking down at the sleeping face of Major Margaret Houlihan, it struck him how different she looked asleep. Not different really, no… just more real. There was no façade, simply Margaret.

Margaret half opened her eyes, the gloom in her tent burned them like the noonday sun and she squinted them closed again. Greedily she embraced the inexplicable feeling of contentment that had crept through her while she tried to recall exactly why it was there. Half remembering, and realising he was no longer in the small cot, she smiled and opened her eyes again. She studied him patiently as he pulled on his tacky Hawaiian shirt. Funny, who'd have thought that of all the men in the world she would wake up next to the one who was everything she wasn't looking for and find that she was happy about it? Finished with his shirt, the tall captain gathered up his shoes and socks and headed for the door. Figuring Hawkeye hadn't wanted to wake her, Margaret pushed herself up onto one elbow and murmured his name.

"Hawkeye…?"

As he walked out the door, the name reached his ears; a low sound, barely more than a whisper, and with a slightly rising intonation that betrayed her uncertainty.  
Hawkeye heard his name. He kept on walking.

---

A/N: It's funny, as I was writing this, Comrades in Arms came onto the TV and I realised my story was even more like it than I originally realised. I suppose this is my own adaptation. It doesn't happen before or after Comrades in Arms but instead of it. For this reason we will assume that Margaret has already received her _Dear Darlene_ letter from Donald (perhaps this is why she was getting drunk in the Officer's Club).


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hi guys, sorry its a bit of a rush job but it's the middle of exam time at uni right now. Anyway hope its alright...

---

Humming as she crossed the compound, Margaret couldn't help but smile to herself. Then she realised what she was doing and found herself smiling even more. There was a skip in her step that had been absent for a very long time and she felt as though she had no right to feel this ridiculously cheerful in the middle of a war. This, of course, made her smile even more.  
"Morning Father! Beautiful day, isn't it."  
"Why, good morning Major. Ah, yes of course, beautiful day."  
Beaming at the somewhat bewildered look on the Father's face as he pulled his coat tighter against the harsh wind and looked up at the heavy grey sky, she practically burst into the mess tent.  
Several of the nurses nearest the door looked up in surprise and Margaret could tell that they were trying to hide their smiles. In fact most of the people she passed seemed to be grinning along with her. Well, let them. It _was_ unusual for them to see the uptight Major Houlihan practically dancing across the compound.

"Sorry Major, there's no toast left."  
"That's perfectly alright Corporal. I'll just have some egg instead."  
The enlisted man loosened his terrified grip on the ladle but only slightly. "Um.. Sorry Major, but, um… that's porridge." He warily informed her, obviously as confused as everyone else by her buoyant behaviour.  
With a bright smile and a girly laugh Margaret stuck out her tray. "Porridge it is then."

The rest of the morning passed in a bright daze. Feeling completely foolish and yet blissfully unable to help it, Margaret smiled and laughed her way through a shift in Post-Op all the time looking forward to the moment she would be free again; free to go find Hawkeye. Hmm.. she would have to work on that. Benjamin really was a more appropriate name for a doctor.

Margaret burst her way back out into the dismal day, briefly pausing to give the sky an admonishing look for trying to dampen her mood.  
"Nothing will you know." She informed it brightly. The universe smirked knowingly at her foolishness and proved her wrong.  
"What is up with Houlihan today?" It was one of the nurses. "She's been all… cheery."  
"Oooh, you haven't heard?" Her companion seemed eager to share the gossip. "You must be the only one. She had a bit of our Dr. Pierce's medicine last night if you know what I mean."  
"Reeeally. No kidding? He's always saying not to underestimate his charm but I never really believed he would try for the Major."  
"Well that's Pierce for you. Always wanting to prove himself."  
"So does this mean he's off-limits to the rest of us now?"  
The two nurses were moving away now.  
"Oh no," a reassuring laugh, "don't worry. As a matter of fact, I'm having dinner with him tonight."

The sound of their fading laughter was harsh and the greyness of the day suddenly seemed so appropriate to Margaret who stood frozen to the spot, shaking in anger and hurt. Eventually the big, heavy drops of rain that had begun to fall brought her out of her reverie. With supreme effort, and for the first time realising just how heavy it was, she pulled the protective armour of Major Houlihan back over poor foolish little Margaret.


	3. Chapter 3

"Goood morning sunshine. Or should I say: good afternoon." BJ let the door slam behind him as he strolled into the Swamp. "I take it you had fun last night."  
The lump on Hawkeye's cot moaned something unintelligible and burrowed deeper into the pillow.  
"No, no, don't mind me. Carry on as is." BJ smiled at his friend's torment.  
"Okay, okay! I'm getting up. There's no need to yell."  
"Good man." BJ flopped down onto his own cot and waited.  
When he had finally pushed himself up, Hawkeye turned to see the other captain stretched out, hands behind his head, staring at him with a strange smirk on his face.  
"What are you looking all smug about?" Hawkeye asked, throwing a suspicious frown, and a lumpy pillow, in his friend's direction.  
"Smug? Me? I'm just waiting for you to wake up."  
"Believe me, if I was still dreaming you'd look a lot less like you and a lot more like Grace Kelly."  
"You know, people often say my delightfully soft lips and full lashes are to die for."  
"Really? Personally, I wouldn't suffer so much as a nosebleed for them."  
"Ouch. Someone rolled out of the wrong side of the cot this afternoon." BJ was still smiling but Hawkeye, looking distinctly the worse for wear, shot him a 'get-to-the-point' glare. BJ took the hint.  
"I was just wondering what you got up to last night."  
"Yeah, you and me both." Hawkeye looked lost in thought for a moment and BJ tried to bite back his annoyance. He would have expected Hawkeye to come to him first with something this big and finding out by way of the camp rumour mill had stung at first. Nonetheless, BJ felt it only fair to give his friend an opportunity to discuss it in his own time. Coming out of his reverie, Hawkeye realised BJ was still watching him.  
"I think I did something stupid, Beej."  
"I know."  
"You know! How do you know?"  
"The whole camp is talking about it. You know how this place is. If you don't want people gossiping, you shouldn't tell them anything." This time there was a slightly sharp edge to the words that, while unintentional, gave BJ a grim satisfaction.  
"I didn't!" Hawkeye's indignant look quickly evaporated in the face of his friend's sceptically raised eyebrows. "Okay, well I may have given a couple of winks and possibly a lewd grin in response to some indiscreet questions but… doesn't anyone have anything better to discuss?"  
"Nope."  
Hawkeye frowned in his friend's direction again. "This is not good Beej. She's gonna be on the warpath. She hates being gossiped about."  
"Margaret's always on the warpath. It wouldn't be any different to usual. Besides, by all accounts she seems to be quite happy today. I don't think you should worry."  
"Happy? Happy how? Relaxed happy? Drunk happy? 'I've-just-talked-to-Lieutenant-Colonel-Donald-Penobscott happy?"  
BJ frowned in thought. "No, more like 'isn't-Hawkeye-great happy'."  
"Isn't-Hawkeye-great happy? What is that? This is Marg- Major Houlihan." Hawkeye, who was up pacing the floor now, turned to face his friend. "Shouldn't she be angry or something?"  
"I don't know Hawk. I don't even know what happened with you two. I thought maybe you had already talked about it." The guilty look on his friend's face said it all. "Well, I suggest you do. Preferably sooner rather than later."

---

"Margaret, hey Margaret, wait up." Hawkeye had seen the blonde major heading his way. He'd also, very clearly, seen her abruptly change direction as soon as she spotted him. A puzzling feeling of nervousness ignited in his gut. Despite his friend's advice, Hawkeye had been putting off this moment all day. Alone in his tent, it had been easy enough to pretend there was nothing to talk about. An evening shift in post-op full of smart remarks and knowing looks had convinced him otherwise.  
"Margaret!" Despite his long legs, Hawkeye found himself jogging to catch up with the fleeing nurse. "Anyone would think you were avoiding me." He flashed her his most charming smile. He needn't have bothered. _She won't even look at me. This is BJ's idea of happy._ "Look, I suppose I just thought maybe we should… I don't know, talk or something." Nothing. "About last night… Come on Margaret, don't ignore me."

"I'm not ignoring you. I'm just - not talking to you. And it's Major." She didn't miss a step in her relentless march. Nor did she look at him.  
"Ohhhh, now I see. Thankyou for pointing out that clear distinction, _Major_. Well if you aren't going to say anything I'd better, before you run out of camp and start marching on the North Koreans." Hawkeye was beginning to wish he'd better organised his thoughts before attempting this but at least _he_ was trying. "Look, I don't really understand what the big deal is. I mean we were two lonely souls getting drunk in a bar. It was nice to have company for a while. There's no need for the Jekyll and Hyde routine." As soon as the words left his mouth, Hawkeye knew they were a mistake.  
"SHUT UP." She stopped suddenly and rounded on him, eyes ablaze, fists clenched at her sides. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!" Hawkeye, taken aback by the sudden outburst, did as commanded. They were nearly at the edge of the camp now and in the soft glow reaching out to them he studied her face. She studied the ground.  
"You want to know what I feel. Nothing. There, are you happy. I was just another diversion to the great Hawkeye Pierce. And he was just someone who was there when I needed company." Her voice cracked and the fight seemed to go out of her. "This morning I… I was… I thought maybe I lo-… I thought I could care about you. But you are who you are." She turned her blue eyes up to meet his and Hawkeye was surprised to see genuine hurt there, not anger or disgust or even dislike. Just hurt. "I can't change you but… can you just leave me alone. Please." She began walking, a little slower this time, back towards her tent. A jumble of thoughts flooded Hawkeye's mind and in desperation he grabbed one and called after her.  
"But you'll have to get over it; we have to go to the 8063rd tomorrow."  
The falter in her step told him she had forgotten but she didn't turn to look at him.  
"We're both professionals," he heard her mutter before disappearing into the dark.  
Hawkeye stood alone, watching the shadows which had swallowed up his friend.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hi guys, it's been a while! In my defense, life has been absolutely hectic and I have heap of assignments due but this is much more fun so here is the next chapter. It's a little rushed again, but if anyone is actually still interested in my story I hope you will forgive that and read on.

---

BJ sneezed again.  
Margaret glanced across at him. "We're going to be operating you know."  
"You're kidding. And I thought the 8063rd had got wind of our meatloaf and wanted the recipe. Then again, if they got wind of it they'd probably defect to North Korea."  
"I mean," she said shrilly, "you shouldn't have come if you're sick."  
"Alright let's go back and get Hawkeye instead then."  
The head nurse turned resolutely back to the front, her face burning up angrily. Out of the corner of her eye she could see BJ glance at her guiltily.  
"Sorry, that wasn't funny."  
Margaret had been dreading the morning. She had gone to bed grumpy and woke up even worse. Despite what she had said last night, the last thing she wanted to do right now was spend any time alone with that insufferable child-doctor and she wasn't entirely sure that she _was_ in fact professional enough to do it with grace. Roughly packing her bag and donning her most defensive persona, she had marched out to the jeep only to find a tall blonde doctor in place of the tall dark one she had been expecting. Consequently, BJ had borne the brunt of her bad mood, although she was finding it difficult to care. _He probably had a good laugh with his best mate about me anyway.  
_Margaret had never felt so humiliated in her life. She had suffered jibes and jokes about various relationships, endured the frosty attitude of many a subordinate, even stuck by her philandering husband, but never had she felt like so many people were looking at her and seeing a fool. Remembering the pang of disappointment that had accompanied her relief at finding out BJ had offered to come with her instead, she wasn't sure she blamed them. _I am a fool.  
_"Margaret, you're crying."  
"Huh?" She quickly wiped the offending tear away. "Dust… from the road," she explained, although her voice had a thick quality to it that belied her words.

BJ wished he were in bed. The sudden onset of drizzly weather had given him a cold and driving around the Korean countryside in an open jeep with an angry major didn't seem to be helping it. Sensing that what Margaret wanted most right now was to pretend she was impervious, BJ was happy to let her brood in silence. Anyway, he had thoughts of his own to occupy him. The latest mail call had come and gone, bringing the same disappointment as the three before it. Frantically searching through his small stack of letters BJ had found a mail-order catalogue, a letter from an old colleague and an invoice for $36 from a mechanic he had been to see months ago. He had even shaken out the catalogue in the hopes of finding the small, scented envelope bearing his wife's curly handwriting that he so anxiously awaited. It had not been there. The disappointment was like a stone in his stomach. _Or maybe an ugly green army jeep_, he thought ruefully. At first not hearing from his wife had been a niggling annoyance. Soon it had escalated into horrible visions of her involved in an array of dangerous or terrifying situations. Finally, when no word of doom had come from either a hospital or Peg's parents, he had turned to the last and, ashamedly, most disturbing conclusion; the one he had been dancing around for some time, pretending not to see as it lurked in the corners of his consciousness. _She's found someone else. She's found someone who is helpful and loving; someone who is there._ He gripped the wheel tighter and forced his mind away from that awful chasm and back to Korea.  
"Margaret, where are we?"  
"Huh, oh," she glanced blankly at the map in her lap, "next left."  
BJ hesitated. "You'll be fine Margaret. Besides, you have a great husband right."  
His attempt to cheer her up greeted with silence, BJ turned to look at her. The usually composed nurse had her face buried in her hands and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.  
"Hey, hey, I'm sorry. That was stupid. But I'm sure Donald will understand." She sobbed louder now. _Oh god, I'm making it worse. Where's Sidney when you need him._ "Okay. Um… well maybe don't tell him."  
"It's- _sniff -_ not - _sniff -_ that." Margaret took a deep, steadying breath. "I got a letter from him…" She trailed off into pitiful snivelling.  
"Donald?" BJ thought for a moment. "Ohh…He sent you a Dear Jane letter?"  
A smile, albeit a wry one, played at her lips. "Worse. A Dear Darlene."  
"Ouch." For some reason, meeting each other's eyes, they burst into laughter.  
"It's not funny you know." She finally slapped his arm playfully as they bumped along. Suddenly she looking around, wiping the last of the tears from her eyes. "Hey BJ, where are we?"  
"You aren't supposed to be asking _me_ that! You said 'next left'. This is the next left."  
"When I said next left, I meant next _road_ on the left, not next… path… or whatever this is. I don't think it's even on here." She was twisting the map in all directions while she spoke as though expecting the anonymous track to leap out at her.  
"Okay, fine, don't snap at me, we'll just turn around and find the real road."  
The words had barely left his lips when something hissed past his ear and shattered the tiny windscreen. The world spun out of control. A high-pitched screaming reached him from somewhere. It could have lasted an eternity or been over in the blink of an eye. All BJ knew was the terror, the grief, which infused that haunting sound. A tree appeared in their path. It was so close he could make out a beetle crawling lazily up the trunk. As time hovered in that instant, BJ realised the screaming was his own. _Peeeeggggggggggg_. And then there was nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here I am, trying to write a measly thousand words for uni (which is due tomorrow of course) and out comes this chapter instead. Aaargh! Still you can't fight fate :) So here it is, crappy and rushed as usual but hopefully you can enjoy it all the same. By the way, I realise _whoosh_ is a terrible bullet sound. Any suggestions (besides bang)?**

"Could you please cease and desist!"  
"Huh?" Hawkeye turned to face an irritated Charles. "_Cease _and _desist_ what?"  
"Wearing that enormous hole in our already wretched floor. Your incessant pacing is driving me insane not to mention very much diminishing my enjoyment of this particular novella."  
Ignoring Charles' dark look, Hawkeye spun a chair around and plopped down next the balding surgeon.  
"Maybe you can help me then." He eyed Charles over, suddenly realising who he was talking to. "Well, maybe not, but you'll do for now."  
"Pierce, I resent your insinuation that I would be unable to help you with problems of this nature."  
"I take it then that you've heard about my little …"  
"Misadventure?"  
"Trust you to make it sound so meaningless."  
"So then it was in fact meaning_ful_?"  
"I don't know. What do you think?"  
Charles deliberately closed his book and placed it beside his bed before clasping his hands in his lap. "Let me explain something to you Pierce. I don't care. I neither wish to offer you any gems of advice nor to discuss your feelings."  
"I thought you resented my insinuations."  
"I do. I, in fact, have a wealth of knowledge at my disposal. I just don't wish to share it with a cretin like yourself." This was of course accompanied by the Winchester patented derisive laugh.  
"Come on Charles. I'm going crazy here. Plus I'd love to hear all about your own personal 'misadventures'." Hawkeye winked and elbowed his bunkmate in an attempt to illicit details. He got an exasperated moan instead.  
"You are going to continue to torture me if I don't do something, aren't you." Hawkeye grinned and nodded. "Alright then, let me spell it out for you. She is a Major, she is a Head Nurse. She is passionate and smart and married to a Lieutenant Colonel. Whatever temporary insanity, or inebriety as the case may be, caused her to ignore your obvious failings is not likely to last so you may as well stop agonising and, more importantly, stop – annoying – me."  
With a sigh, Hawkeye got up and left.

ooo

The whole world was dark. _Am I blind? Or maybe I'm dead. Oh god, I'm dead, I'm dead! _Margaret began flailing her arms in protest and felt dull aches and sharp pains all over her body. Her initial terror receded. _I'm not dead; being dead wouldn't hurt so much._ With a sigh of relief and joy she focused on forcing her reluctant eyes open. Initially, the dull day seemed bright beyond comprehension but, as her eyes adjusted and the blood began pumping normally through her body again, the whole ghastly scene emerged before her.  
"BJ!" Terror regained its death grip on Margaret's insides as she flung herself on the limp surgeon. His side of the jeep was impossibly wrapped around the tree they had hit and the green of his uniform was dark with blood.  
"BJ, oh god, BJ can you hear me."  
For a few moments it felt as if the hysterical urge to scream or sob or collapse in a heap was going to overwhelm her but, clenching her eyes shut again, she reminded herself that she was a nurse and a Major in the United States Army. _Get a grip Maggie._

ooo

"I just don't get it you know. I mean she _is_ too good for me. Charles was right, although I'd never tell him that. Why would she even look twice at me? Margaret Houlihan has never wasted an opportunity to let me know what a scoundrel she thinks I am."  
"Well Hawkeye," the gentle little priest looked somewhat uncomfortable as he searched for the perfect words. They came slowly. "I think maybe you should ask yourself what you really mean to each other. Perhaps it was just a moment of weakness on both your parts. Perhaps it is worth more. I'm sorry my son, either way, I really don't think I'm the one who can answer that for you."  
With a sigh, Hawkeye got up and left.

ooo

Blood ran down Margaret's hands as she clawed frantically at BJ's seat. He was still unconscious but she had found a pulse and now her priority was to get them away from whoever had shot at them. Whimpering in pain as her nails snapped and her skin was rubbed raw, she finally managed to wrench a large enough space to free BJ from his iron prison.  
"Oh god. Bloody men!" She chewed her lower lip, trying to decide how she was possibly going to carry a 6 foot tall unconscious man to safety. "Why are you so big?"  
"You can thank my mum for that," a weak voice answered her impassioned cry. "She always made me eat all my greens."  
"Oh Hunnicutt!" Margaret flung herself onto the unsuspecting doctor who could only respond with a pained grunt. "Oh sorry, I just… I thought… I'm so relieved!"  
"You and me both," he smiled weakly, rubbing his tender ribs. "We have a slight problem though. I don't think I'm going to be walking anywhere soon."  
Margaret followed his gaze to his bloody, broken legs and felt the pang of hysteria fighting to come back.  
"Margaret, listen. You have to get out of here now. Go find help." His voice was quiet but forceful.  
"I can't leave you! I can't…"  
"Go!"

ooo

"So how did you know Mildred was the woman for you Colonel?"  
The aging Colonel refilled his scotch glass and relaxed comfortably back in his chair. A wistful smile and a faraway look stole across his face. "Ah son, she was lovely. Caught my eye the moment I saw her. Course it could have been that she was dancing with Chip Palmer. Real piece of work that one. Wasn't gonna let him have the most beautiful girl in the room to himself. Well anyway, I was taken by her but she was…" here he gave a hearty chuckle, "less than taken with me. Took some convincing it did to get past that coy nature of hers. Feisty too. Course I always knew it was all just a cover. She couldn't get enough of me." At this he rubbed and flexed his jaw as if an invisible hand had just slapped it. "Except maybe that time down by the lake…" Looking up and meeting Hawkeye's expectant gaze, the Colonel cleared his throat and readjusted himself in his seat. "Ah well, the most important thing I suppose was that she wasn't married." It wasn't hard to read the meaning behind the Colonel's words.  
With a sigh, Hawkeye got up and left.

ooo

Margaret struggled under BJ's weight. She was bent over almost double with him lying across her back, the hands around her neck clinging onto a heavy medical bag. Her legs shook uncontrollably from the exertion and each step felt as though it would be her last. Still, if BJ wasn't complaining about the extreme pain his own legs were no doubt causing him as they bounced awkwardly along behind her, she wasn't going to complain about a little exercise.  
"Margaret," his voice, still weak, was now laced with excruciating pain. "Margaret…"  
"Shh, just hold on a little."  
"Margaret, what if this is a mine field?"  
That made her stop. She had been so concentrated on putting one foot ahead of the other that she hadn't once stopped to think where she was walking. She hesitated. They had been making their way down a slight incline and the thought of climbing back up it made her want to drop right where she was. The cover of trees she had been heading towards looked invitingly close but…  
_Whoosh_. As another bullet landed nearby, Margaret made her decision. With a sudden burst of unanticipated energy she stumbled towards the trees.  
"Margaret! This might be a mine field."  
"Yeah well that _definitely_ is a sniper!" The headlong rush seemed to last forever and then suddenly the two of them crashed into the shadowed haven of thick undergrowth.

ooo

"So you see she thinks I'm dirt, she's a fiery one. Head Nurse too, you know? Then of course there's the fact she's married to the 'amazing' Donald Penobscott." The last word dripped with scorn. Hawkeye looked thoughtful for a moment then took a deep breath. "Plus I don't really even know what either of us wanted from that night. I suppose it was just a moment of weakness like the good Father said." At this he turned expectantly to his audience. "What do you guys think? I bet you have these kinds of problems all the time." The two guinea pigs and the rabbit eyed him suspiciously and went back to nibbling on their lettuce.  
"You think I'm being silly?" His face was a picture of deepest hurt but his blue eyes were laughing.  
Suddenly, the sound of running footsteps made him look up.  
"Hawkeye, hey Captain Pierce sir!" The little company clerk skidded to a stop inches before crashing into the seated doctor. "I've been looking for you everywhere."  
"What is it Radar?"  
The corporal suddenly looked lost for words. "Um, well, um." He cleared his throat and started again. "It's Captain Hunnicutt and Major Houlihan sir." Hawkeye felt his blood turn to ice. "The 8063rd called. They never made it."  
Leaping up, Hawkeye started running towards the Colonel's office.

**So there it is. Hope you liked it. Please like it! Please review! Do I sound desperate enough:)**


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter was longer but I hadn't finished with the rest of it and haven't been finding much time to work on it. Anyway,the two parts stand alone fairly well so here is a morsel to bait you (hopefully) and more to come in not too long (also hopefully :P).

oooo

The final rays of light bled into an ever darkening sky and took with them the last vestiges of warmth. Not for the first time that day, that year if she was honest, Margaret wanted to cry. Not just a few stoic tears, to be brushed aside like so many other emotions were these days. She wanted to sit down on the ground and really bawl, let loose, go wild, blubber, weep, howl and scream.  
Instead she rechecked BJ's dressings.  
"They're fine Margaret."  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." It was hard to keep the quaver out of her voice.  
"Well I _was_ having a lovely dream. Something about frolicking in the countryside with a charming young nurse." He forced a smile onto his ashen lips. Margaret suspected it didn't appear quite as confident and offhand as he had intended.  
"I'm sorry I couldn't set your legs properly and those splints – ha! splints, twigs really, but are they holding? Are you cold? I can give you my jacket. I don't think it will fit you but if I just put it over you like this. Water! You need water. Just a sec-" Her voice had taken on the shrill quality that forewarned of hysterics and she was glad of an interruption.  
"Margaret!" He put a gentle hand on hers and smiled again. "Take your jacket back; it won't do if we're both sick. The splints are fine, you did a great job and if I'm thirsty I'll get some water. My arms still work after all." At this he grinned and held out one arm in invitation. Margaret hesitated only a moment before curling up beside him.  
"It's a cold night. I don't want you getting any sicker."  
"Of course, Margaret." She couldn't see the grin anymore but she could hear it.  
"Who made you so…"  
"Charming?"  
"I was going to say condescending."  
"Cool-headed?"  
"Cocky."  
"Compassionate?"  
"Sweet."  
"Hey, that doesn't fit…"  
She had a fleeting glimpse of starlight reflected in warm blue eyes and then they kissed.

---

Hawkeye slammed his fist into the wall.  
"Calm down Pierce!"  
"Calm down! Calm down? My best friend and … and Margaret are lost somewhere out there! It's dark, it's freezing, it's wet and there's a goddamned war going on!"  
"I know!" The little colonel was leaning on the desk with both hands, a fierce look on his weathered face.  
"Well, why isn't anyone doing anything?"  
"Not doing anything! Blimey, Pierce. Half of Korea's been out looking. And the other half is going out first thing in the morning." Potter felt his own anger abate and slumped back into the hard army chair. _After all, Sherm, the kid's just scared. Like you if truth be told. _He suddenly felt like nothing so much as a tired old man. "I'm no happier than you about this son but that's the way it has to be."  
"I'm going with them tomorrow." It wasn't a question but Potter opened his mouth to argue all sorts of logic about leaving it to the professionals and not losing another doctor. It wasn't a question but Potter closed his mouth and nodded his assent. The grim smile on the younger doctor's face showed his gratitude.

---

The tingling in his arm was becoming almost unbearable but BJ held out. He wasn't ready to disturb the sleeping Major just yet. He didn't know that he ever would be. They had been silent for what seemed like hours but that was nothing to the eternity wrapped up in that one little kiss. _Little probably doesn't cover it. _BJ shuddered at the memory of the passion that had seized him, the pleasure he had felt. It had been a long time since he had shared that emotion with anyone. Unfortunately, it had been even longer since he had seen his wife. How could he do that to Peg? Again! _But then maybe she wouldn't care anyway. She's hardly been there for me. _He blinked back the angry tears.  
"It's okay." Although she had barely breathed the words he started at the sudden sound. Looking down he saw that Margaret was studying his face.  
"I thought you were sleeping." The hoarse voice seemed to belong to a stranger but the pain in his throat told him otherwise.  
Margaret answered with a slight shake of the head. "Thinking."  
"Yeah, me too."_ Of course it would help if my head wasn't full of cotton wool.  
_"Don't worry BJ, I know you weren't really kissing me."  
Her words shocked him but looking into her eyes he understood. "Likewise."  
This time it was her turn to be shocked. She turned her face away and shifted uncomfortably.  
"He'll come round Margaret." She didn't ask who 'he' was. She didn't have to. They lapsed back into silence and once again it was Margaret who broke it.  
"You know it's funny, he's not really that great. I mean he's childish and vulgar; he's incredibly lazy except when he's showing off which is far too often. He's scrawny and pale and has more than a few grey hairs and whenever he laughs his face goes all crinkly. But," here she sighed heavily and her last words were barely more than a whisper, "when he laughs…"


	7. Chapter 7

When Margaret woke it was still dark. She was simultaneously surprised to find she had managed to drop off and curious as to why she had abandoned the sweet oblivion. _Probably this hard ground._ Shifting carefully she took a look at BJ. Although each breath sounded painful and rasping, he seemed to be sleeping fairly peacefully. _Lucky devil._ She smiled fondly at the sleeping surgeon. It had been such a relief to share some of herself with someone. Funny that out here, in such an awful situation, she had been happy for a few hours as they had talked about everything from what they missed about home to which type of ice cream goes best with banana pancakes. (She'd said vanilla, he'd seemed to think pistachio – honestly!) Of course there had been issues they had skirted around. She'd surprised herself by talking openly about her ailing marriage but had been very careful to avoid further references to a certain dark haired surgeon. And it hadn't escaped her attention that BJ was almost too cheerful whenever the conversation veered towards his wife. Cheerful but quick to steer it away again. _I hope he's not still feeling bad about the kiss._ As she lay there contemplating this, she began to realise what must have awoken her. _Aargh, why? Here?_ She rose silently to her feet and stared out into the dark trees._ Well if nature calls, it calls._ She took a deep breath and moved away from their little haven; just enough to be decent. Suddenly she ceased her unhappy quest. Standing perfectly still she strained her ears. There it was again: the shuffles of a person moving somewhere in the darkness.

"BJ…?" Her voice came out as little more than a hoarse croak. Margaret stood frantically still. Of course it wasn't BJ; he couldn't be walking about. But then who? Enemy or ally? If she stayed here, maybe he would go away. Then again, he was between her and their little camp and could easily stumble across the helpless BJ. Could she leave him to that fate? Could she really do anything? Still in a frazzle the hapless nurse began to creep back towards her friend. As she moved closer she could make out the dark figure skulking through the undergrowth. The gun held out in front of him confirmed that he was a soldier but it wasn't until he turned to look at her that Margaret could be sure; he was North Korean. Her mind went blank except for one overriding thought: _run!_

He seemed to be right on her heels as they crashed through the trees. Woody fingers lashed at her face and body and thick roots tried to trip her. Realising escape was impossible she madly searched for a solution. Instead she stepped into an unexpected depression and pitched forward. The dark figure went hurtling over the top of her and without thinking she pounced. They rolled over and over, a tussle for life itself. Then two loud shots and it was over. The life went out of one pair of eyes. Death stole the light out of the other.


	8. Chapter 8

Hawkeye crashed frantically through the undergrowth. The small search party had just come across the mangled wreck of his friends' jeep and the sick feeling in his stomach was only mildly relieved by the absence of their mangled bodies. He was having trouble staying calm as the search continued. Someone had suggested that two lost, possibly injured people would be most likely to head downhill. That had been enough for the distraught doctor who had hurried off, yelling his friends' names as he went.  
"Captain, I'm not sure it's such a good idea to be running about recklessly." One of the young GIs put out a hand to stop him. Hawkeye glanced momentarily at the freckle faced kid, gave an indignant huff and ignored him completely. _Let the others search in a polite and orderly manner. I'm gonna find my friends._ And that's what he did.  
After half running, half stumbling down a craggy slope he paused to catch his breath. When he looked up, Hawkeye almost fainted. There she was; dishevelled, ashen and visibly shaken but the most beautiful sight his eyes could have hoped for at that moment. She was leaning seductively against a nearby tree with a half grin on her dirt streaked face. He barrelled towards her and swept her up in a crushing embrace.

---

"Margaret…" he breathed looking down into clouded blue eyes. She could hardly breathe herself but whether from the tight squeeze or his proximity, Margaret didn't know. She could feel the warmth of him pressed against her, their faces inches apart.  
"Margaret," he blurted. "Where's BJ?"

---

If Hawkeye had still been looking into those clouded blue eyes he might have seen something precious wither within. But Hawkeye wasn't looking. He was already stalking towards the prone yet visibly alive form of his friend, an elated beam on his face. He was almost at his friend's side when he faltered. BJ wasn't beaming back. He was gesturing at Hawkeye and croaking hoarsely. It was then that Hawkeye noticed the blood, warm and sticky on his own shirt. On his shirt where he had pressed against…  
"Margaret!" He wheeled around to a profoundly different scene than the one he had first imagined. There stood a scared, frail woman with a pained grimace on her face. She clung desperately to a tree in an attempt to stay upright but even as he watched she lost her grip and pitched forward. Time seemed to slow down but not enough. Before Hawkeye could close the distance she hit the ground with a dull thump that resonated through his whole being.

---

When Margaret came around she was laying in the back of an army pick up truck, the canopy of trees replaced by a sweeping arch of slate grey sky.  
"Not the most luxurious means of transport but it sure beats our previous situation."  
She turned to her left where BJ lay grinning at his own joke and tried miserably to summon up the mirth he was obviously looking for. _I can't. It's over. I'm too cold to laugh anymore._ She wanted so badly to share the abyss inside with BJ but the words wouldn't come. Instead she forced her mind to focus on their immediate surroundings.  
"Where's…"  
"He was called away by one of the GIs. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

---

It was like Margaret's body had woken up but the person inside was gone. It chilled BJ to the core to see the emptiness in her eyes as she tried to smile at him. _It's just the injury. She'll be fine once we get her home.  
_"We're safe, thanks to you. Everything's okay now Margaret." His assurances sounded hollow even to himself. The effort of moving away from their shelter to meet the search party had obviously cost her dearly. Her breathing was laboured and her voice weak but still she fought to say something.  
"I'm glad," she stumbled clumsily over the words, pain wracking her body. "I'm glad you'll see them again; Peg and Erin. I'm glad I did something good."  
"Margaret, don't talk like that. You've done lots of good. We need you."  
"No." She had closed her eyes again and her face was almost as grey as the sky above them. "No-one does. No-one will miss me, not really. Some people will be sad, some people will say that I was a good nurse or an efficient major." Her breathing degenerated into a harsh cough that left specks of blood on her hand but she continued indifferently. "My parents will say I was a dependable daughter. My friends, the few I have, will say I was good for a laugh, believe it or not. Then they'll all get on with their lives."  
BJ reached across to hold her hand. It felt icy. "I'd miss you. So would Hawkeye."  
She opened her heavy lids again and locked BJ with that same empty stare. "He'd miss you. That's all he said to me you know," she sunk back onto the hard bed of the truck, a faraway smile on her red lips. "'Where's BJ?'"

BJ raised his eyes above Margaret's head to the edge of the truck. Hawkeye's face had been unreadable as he stood transfixed by the short speech. But along with the tears in his friend's eyes BJ now saw terror; a terror he knew was reflected in his own watery vision. Somehow they'd lost their friend and he had no idea if they'd ever get her back.


	9. Chapter 9

The 4077th, a sea of army green and dusty brown, stank slightly with the unpleasant aroma of discarded waste and full latrines. It was the same unappealing cess pit as always and yet Hawkeye couldn't recall ever being so relieved to see the ramshackle collection of tents and sheds. As the small convoy rolled into the compound, he felt an unaccountable fondness for the shabby camp and everything in it. People rushed at the truck from all angles, each attending to their job with remarkable efficiency despite the unasked questions creasing their brows. Hawkeye sat dazed amid the storm of activity. The panic he had been suppressing clawed at his gut and the blood on his hands was making him nauseous. He was vaguely aware of someone, Charles probably, giving people orders and in no time the orderlies had carried off Margaret and BJ leaving Hawkeye alone in the back of the truck.  
"C'mon son." Colonel Potter's kindly face appeared at his side, and Hawkeye silently remarked on the sprightliness of the older man. _What a strange thought at a time like this._ He felt disconnected, far away from what was happening around him.  
"If you're not up to this right now you'd best head back to your tent but with Hunnicut out of commission Winchester and I could sure use your help."  
Hawkeye forced himself to concentrate on the scene around him. His was not the only procession of vehicles that had entered the compound. It was only a small contingent of wounded but the Colonel was right, three would be better than two.  
"I'm taking Margaret first." He leapt off the bed of the truck with newfound purpose and began wending his way through the stretchers and medical personnel. The nurses had triage under control so he headed for the scrub room. The aging Colonel, awkwardly lowering himself to the ground, made to follow. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Pierce."  
The younger doctor was already mentally checking off how he would approach the operation and dismissed his CO's misgivings with a wave. _Just keep busy. No time for self pity._ He couldn't afford to sink back into that dark place. Not yet.  
"Pierce, will you look at me!" Colonel Potter caught up with him at the sink, fists clenched to his sides and a ferocious look on his weathered face. Hawkeye turned, ready for a confrontation, welcoming it. The Colonel, however, softened and reached out a hand to rest on his subordinate's shoulder. "You can do this?"  
Not trusting his voice, Hawkeye nodded.  
"If it gets too hard give me or Winchester a yell. There's no shame in that."  
Hawkeye smiled grimly and pushed through the door to the OR.

---

_It's just another patient. Just another body._ White flesh shone starkly against the bright red of the blood. His hand shook ever so slightly as it clenched the shiny scalpel. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. _Focus.  
_"Pierce. Need a hand?"  
"No."  
Charles peered over Hawkeye's shoulder for a moment longer before shrugging and turning back to his own patient.  
_Focus._

---

Hawkeye's head hit the wall as he sagged back in exhaustion. It felt so good to be sitting.  
"Big day?" Ever the optimist, BJ grinned at his friend from the comfort of the hospital bunk.  
Hawkeye grimaced back. "It's alright for some. You got to lie around all night while the rest of us were working."  
"Why don't you go to bed?"  
"My shift." Hawkeye waved his hand at the half full post-op. "Well actually your shift. But I don't think I could sleep yet anyway."  
The two friends lapsed into companionable silence as they studied the occupant of the next cot. Her face was still deathly pale and her eyes were sunken beneath black smudges but she was still breathing. At least he had achieved that much.  
"Tell me about it." BJ looked confused by the request. "Tell me what it was like. What happened?"  
Hawkeye could feel his friend studying the side of his face but he didn't draw his own gaze away from the rise and fall of Margaret's chest. His heart stopped with each pause and leapt again as each new breath filled her lungs with life.

BJ talked. Hesitantly at first but with growing confidence. He explained that they had gotten lost and come under enemy fire. He described how Margaret had helped him. Saved him.  
"She was so brave Hawk. I'd have been a goner without her."  
"You were scared?"  
"Terrified. More than I have ever been in my life."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Why?" BJ reached out and touched his friend's arm. Hawkeye hesitated before answering. He broke his vigil briefly to glare resolutely into the sick doctor's eyes.  
"You would never have been in that jeep if …" _If I hadn't been a jerk. If I could keep my pants on. If I wasn't so cowardly._ He turned away again.  
"You can't possibly blame yourself!"  
"She does."  
"She does not!" His angry retort set BJ to coughing and forced Hawkeye into playing doctor for a few minutes. When the rattle in BJ's chest had finally dissipated he started again. "I wouldn't have been in that jeep if what? If I hadn't come to Korea. If I hadn't gone to medical school. If I'd been born with club foot or run away to Canada when the war started?" Hawkeye felt his lips curl up despite himself. "Yeah that's right," BJ continued. "It's ridiculous and so is feeling sorry for yourself when there are other people who deserve your pity. Look at me stuck in here with two broken legs and pneumonia and my own doctor won't even give me any attention."  
Hawkeye punched his friend playfully. "That's because you're such a demanding pain in the butt."  
"Doctors always make the worst patients."  
Hawkeye grinned properly this time and poured BJ a glass of water. His pointed look clearly defied the ill-tempered patient to fault his actions.  
"You did a good job on her you know." BJ had turned serious again.  
"Naturally. These hands are pure gold."  
"I mean it. You should go to bed. Kellye can call you if anyone needs you."  
Anyone. There was only one patient he was worried about. "She doesn't look right Beej."  
"Kellye?"  
Hawkeye shot BJ a glare. It was so hard to put into words. The last time he had seen her sleeping, Margaret had been at peace. She had seemed to glow with an inner warmth that was missing from the brittle shell that lay before him. It was true that she had lost a lot of blood and along with BJ seemed to be suffering the effects of the elements, her body weakened by the cold and wet. There was something else though. Something indefinable that made him, usually the healer, feel helpless to fix. He sank back against the wall. BJ dozed. Hawkeye's heart rose and fell on the tide of Margaret's faint breathing.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Well I just hacked this out last night. I'm sorry if it shows, I think I'm getting lazy.**

BJ was glad that Hawkeye was finally gone. As much as he adored his friend, his company had offered little comfort to the bedridden surgeon. Hawkeye was almost asleep on his feet and yet he refused to withdraw his gaze from the blonde haired patient before him. As though that alone was binding her spirit to this world. His brooding manner did nothing to allay BJ's own fears and his intermittent questions seemed cold and clinical rather than sympathetic. At his friend's insistence, Hawkeye had finally agreed to shower and rest although he refused the suggestion that he stop by the Mess Tent. Reluctantly rising from his chair, Hawkeye had fixed the ailing doctor with a penetrating stare and asked the worst question of all. The one BJ had been dreading. "How did she get shot?"

_Yeah BJ, how _did_ she get shot? _

He was back among the trees. Something had disturbed his slumber although he was uncertain as to what exactly. He turned to see if Margaret had noticed only to find he was alone. Fear and guilt took equal measure of his soul. Anything could have happened to her and he could do nothing to help. Every muscle ached and he was fairly certain that the chills racking his body were not wholly related to the weather. _Pneumonia, _he unhappily diagnosed. Just what they needed. Valiantly struggling against his heavy eyelids, he waited for what seemed like hours; panic his only weapon against fatigue. It was not until the rustling of his medical bag disturbed him that he realised he had lost the struggle and fallen asleep. _Useless clod!  
_"Margaret! Thanks goodness. Where were you?"  
"Finding myself a latrine. Go back to sleep."  
BJ's tired mind fought to ignore the order. It detected something in the thickness of her voice, the awkward way she was sitting, that wasn't right. He shrugged off the last tendrils of sleep and moved closer to her. In the pre-dawn light he could just make out a dark shadow against the olive drab of her shirt. No not a shadow, every minute it spread and grew like…  
"My god, Margaret. Lie down now." BJ expected a tussle over the medical bag but her numb fingers gave up the prize readily and she lay back on the hard ground, whimpering like an injured puppy. The rapidly spreading blood had made it look worse than it was but only marginally. If they didn't get help soon she was in big trouble. They both were. For the first time in many months, BJ prayed. _We can't die here!_

Back in the bright, warm safety of post-op, BJ couldn't seem to relay any of this fear or desperation to Hawkeye. Instead he had shrugged. "Beats me."

Now he was alone. As he lay in bed, letting the various drugs and antibiotics spread numbing warmth throughout his body, BJ's muddled thoughts turned to his wife. It seemed like weeks ago he had been bitterly imagining her betrayals. Now he wanted nothing more than to feel her protective arms around him and smell her comforting scent. _Who cares why she hasn't written. I need you Peggy. _He closed his eyes against the grim reality of his location and let his mind float back to Mill Valley and the woman of his dreams. She was standing in the dappled shadows of their garden, wearing his favourite summer dress but one shadow grew and grew, overtaking the others. A dark stain spread across her front, her smile dissolving into fear and no matter how much he stretched out, BJ could not reach her. He woke; a strangled scream in his throat. His dreams had turned to nightmares. Even in his sleep, there was no escaping Korea.

Next to him, Margaret's eyelids fluttered. A small groan escaped her lips. BJ nearly leapt out of his adjoining cot.  
"Margaret. Can you hear me?" Another groan. "Charles!"  
The balding surgeon hurried to her bedside. "Margaret. It's Charles. If you can hear me squeeze my hand." The slightest pressure. The Bostonian could not hide his relief. He beamed at BJ and leaned reassuringly towards the dozing nurse. "You're alright now." He whispered. "It's all alright now."

BJ wanted to believe but he was haunted by memories of summer dresses stained in blood and the feeling that nothing would ever be right again.


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Hi guys. Here's a little baby chapter just to whet your appetites (hopefully - I'd hate to ruin them) with more to come shortly. Sorry about the slow update. Not so much writer's block as writer's laziness.**

Charles was leaning over a patient when Hawkeye burst into post-op.

"Pierce, this is a hospital. Show a little decorum." He glanced scathingly along the length of the unshaven doctor's haggard frame. "If possible."

Hawkeye was in no mood for Charles' scorn. "Why didn't anybody tell me she'd woken up?"

"Well apparently somebody did otherwise we would be without the pleasure of your company. Hey, Pierce! Leave her alone."

Hawkeye had stalked over to Margaret's bedside and begun checking her vitals.

"She's my patient." He cast a challenging look over his shoulder and went back to taking the dozing nurse's pulse.

"She's also asleep." BJ disapproving tone, even more than Charles' burning glare, made Hawkeye hesitate. BJ had been right before. He was selfish. Always making everyone else's problems his own. Always worrying about how they impacted him. He would have left any other patient to sleep, secure in the knowledge that although he was a pompous jackass, Charles was a more than capable surgeon. He dropped Margaret's wrist.

"I – I'm sorry." The dark haired man rose awkwardly to his feet, unsure whether he should leave now. "How is she?"

Charles' expression softened slightly and he picked up the chart at the end of the bed. "Her heart rate's stable, no sign of infection. She's breathing fairly regularly, has a temperature of 100..."

"And is awake." Both doctors started at the interruption, looking first from BJ who had spoken then to Margaret who was calmly observing their conversation through half-closed eyes.

"Margaret." Hawkeye squatted back down beside her cot, the other doctors forgotten. All that existed for him was the unfocused blue of her eyes. _And they exist!_ Relief washed through him. "How do you feel?"

Margaret's gaze left his and wandered aimlessly for a moment. When they returned to his, her eyes had regained some of their clarity.

"Fine, thank you." Her voice was hoarse and Hawkeye leapt to pour her a glass of water.

"Geez, I had to practically beg for that sort of treatment." BJ exchanged a knowing glance with Charles but his comment went unnoticed by Hawkeye who was still beaming proudly at the blonde patient beside him.

"You're allowed to not be fine Margaret. I won't take offence. After all, you were shot in the belly." _And what a fine belly it is too._

"I'm sure you did a good job doctor." Hawkeye's grin faltered in the face of her clinical formality. Hoping it was just post-operative confusion, he tried again.

"Please mademoiselle, call me Hawkeye. All my most alluring patients do."

"It's true. I always call him Hawkeye," BJ offered unhelpfully earning himself a frustrated glare from the man himself.

Turning his back on his friend, Hawkeye picked up the clammy hand before him. "If you need anything get the nurse or Chuckles here to send for me. Anytime." He held her eyes with his own, willing her to read all of his remorse and relief and affection there. She pulled her hand from his grasp and her eyes from his gaze.

"Thankyou Captain." _Captain! I've been relegated to Captain now?_

Not knowing what to do Hawkeye gave a look of appeal to each of the watching doctors and when no help was forthcoming from either quarter, he rose and left the hospital feeling significantly less buoyant than when he had entered.

**Apologies for the shortness, please review anyway.**


	12. Chapter 12

Hawkeye pushed through the door to the Colonel's office. "You wanted to see me sir?"

The older man waved his hand at an empty seat and poured two glasses of scotch, toying with the idea of keeping them both for himself. He'd been in need a stiff belt more and more of late. Eventually he reluctantly handed one glass to the younger doctor and they both sat.

"Well son, as you know, we have a couple of special patients entitled to a little good old fashioned military decoration." Hawkeye frowned in confusion. "Blimey Pierce, the Purple Heart."

"Oh right. So what do you want me to do?" It was the colonel's turn to frown at the curt tone but he let it slide. He'd been letting a lot of things slide lately. The whole camp seemed to have been swept up into the foul mood of its officers and the previous two weeks had been one long series of petty arguments and unprovoked tantrums. _Everyone's on edge. I suppose it's understandable._ He bit back the equally curt remark dancing on his tongue.

"Well, General Hammond has heard a lot of good things about our Major and he wanted to come here and present it in person. We'll have a little ceremony, make a day of it. The whole camp could use a pep-up after recent events and this might be just the thing to do it."

After a fortnight of the 'best care anywhere' both patients were recovering well. Margaret was up and walking, usually on the willing arm of Corporal Klinger but occasionally accompanied by Charles or Hawkeye. Once she had started making regular visits to the mess tent for her daily dose of disgusting it had been difficult to find reason to keep her in the post-op ward. She had moved back to her tent under the proviso that various members of the 4077 be allowed to check on her regularly. BJ, whose legs were still plastered at awkward angles, had no such luck. The traction was no longer necessary so he was allowed to tour the compound in a wheelchair but only with strict instructions that he be returned to the hospital if he so much as sniffed. All the same, neither Margaret nor BJ's temperaments had improved since their dramatic rescue and Hawkeye's face made it clear what he thought of the idea of a medal ceremony.

Potter sighed. "I know. I had a few misgivings of my own but the general insisted and his star trumps my bird any day. Who knows, it might do 'em good."

-o-

The balding general arrived early the next morning to a fully turned out camp. In the usual 4077th fashion, news of the event had spread like wildfire and it seemed the only two people still unaware of the plan were the recipients themselves. Of course, they too were about to find out.

Potter leaned over to the man standing beside him. "Here they come, General."

A small procession was making its way from post-op towards the crudely erected stage. Hawkeye, pushing BJ in his wheelchair, led the way with Margaret, leaning heavily on the arm of a grinning Charles, close behind. Save the satisfied smirk on the Bostonian's face, all of them wore expressions of great apprehension.

As they reached the centre of the assembled personnel and ascended the small ramp, General Hammond cleared his throat and launched into a speech.

"Well men…ah, and of course women… today is a distinguished one for you and your outfit." He paused dramatically and was rewarded with a spattering of applause. "As you may well know, two of your very own officers were recently involved in a skirmish with the enemy…"

Hawkeye leaned closer BJ's ear. "I once had a similar skirmish with a three-foot retaining wall. I didn't get a medal but I did get the purple tush, courtesy of Dad's boot."

"Shhh, Pierce," Potter growled.

"…and as a result of wounds received in defence of their country…"

"I keep telling them, 'send me home, I'm not Korean' but will they listen? Must be confused by my short stature and dark hair."

"Can it, Hunnicutt."

"I am pleased to present the Purple Heart to Captain BJ Hunnicutt…"

The general displayed the medal theatrically to a slightly heartier applause before pinning it onto the surgeon's pyjamas. BJ's face went red, Margaret's went white.

"And what you may well **not** know is the outstanding valour displayed by your very own head nurse. Her honour and courage have done our nation proud and for that reason I am recommending that in addition to this medal, she be awarded the Bronze Star Medal for heroic or meritorious achievement."

Margaret's shock was palpable. Her jaw went slack and her eyes wide as the general came at her, brandishing the shiny medal. Just as he was about to pin it to her shirt she recovered her senses and jerked back. General Hammond gave her a confused smile.

"I'll try not to stab you, Major. We want to see you back in shape to receive your next medal."

"I don't want it."

Potter wasn't sure he'd heard right. Neither was the general. "I'm sorry?"

"I don't want it," she repeated louder. "I don't want this one. I don't want the other one. Keep your medals. I don't want them."

The silence was overwhelming, everyone transfixed by this utterly uncharacteristic display from their normally GI major. The major herself looked like she dearly wanted to run away if only she could drag Charles along fast enough.

It was the general who first regained his composure, slipping the medal back into its leather case and handing it to Potter. "We'll put this aside somewhere shall we Colonel?"

Potter nodded, still dumbstruck. None of the unease he had felt could have prepared him for this turn of events. Major Houlihan turning down a medal? _I never thought I'd see the day._

-o-

Potter toyed absently with the small medal case before locking it in his desk. The fallout from the day's events had been minimal. _Thank heavens_. The general had displayed compassion and understanding, leaving the camp promptly but not before assuring the concerned colonel that some casualties just have a rough time adjusting and she'd come through it. All the same, Potter was suffering from the kind of headache not easily banished, even by a tall glass of scotch. Matters had spiralled out of his control and it was time to call in the experts.

"Radar!"

"Major Freedman on the line for you sir."

"Get Sidney Freedman… ahem yes, thankyou Radar."

God, he felt old.


	13. Chapter 13

BJ wasn't about to shy away from Hawkeye's intense scrutiny. Instead, he returned it with equal zeal. Each man regarded the other suspiciously, trying to read their companion's thoughts in his face. It was Hawkeye who finally spoke.

"Ten."

BJ grinned cunningly. "Go fish."

"What? You have to be cheating! I must have gone through every number in the deck. I've certainly got them all right here."

"Thanks for the tip. Nine." Hawkeye grumpily handed his three nines over to BJ who then proceeded to considerably lighten his friend's hand with a succession of lucky guesses.

"That does it. If I'm going to be slaughtered, I'd at least like a drink in my hand and a girl by my side." Hawkeye threw down his cards and sauntered over to the still.

"I'll take one of those to go. And you may as well get me a drink too." Hawkeye frowned at his friend's uncharacteristic attempt at lechery, but quickly recovered.

"Well there's a four to six week waiting period on the girl. But I _can_ accommodate you with a glass of Chateau du Swamp's finest."

"Thanks." The two men fell into a companionable silence, their cards abandoned.

"So... what did you make of yesterday." Hawkeye's casual tone sounded forced to his best friend but BJ played along.

"A little bit warm for this time of year but it makes a nice change."

"Come on Beej. You don't think that was weird." It was clear Hawkeye wanted to discuss this whether BJ liked it or not. "I mean Margaret Houlihan does not turn down medals. Margaret Houlihan does not disrespect superior officers. As far as I'm concerned, that is not Margaret Houlihan."

BJ flinched at the vehemence in his bunkmate's voice and at the poignancy of his words. It had been a rather disturbing day all round.

"Maybe Hawk, but I think I know where she's coming from. I feel a little foolish accepting a medal just for getting hurt. I could do that anywhere."

"You were under attack!"

"I drove into a tree! In fact, if I hadn't crashed maybe we would have gotten away from there and none of this would have happened. It seems stupid to give someone a medal for that." He finished bitterly.

Hawkeye was opening and closing his mouth in a comical attempt to understand his friend. "You… I…"

"You're impression of a fish must be seen to be believed."

The dark haired man closed his mouth and shook his head. "You two amaze me. Accept the damn compliment will you!?"

-o-

There was a knock on her door. Margaret had been expecting this.

"Come in Doctor."

Sidney stepped through the door with a kindly smile. "You don't seem surprised to see me, Major."

"I still have enough marbles left to know what everybody thought of me yesterday."

"So you think you're losing your marbles." Sidney sat himself down in the little chair as Margaret rearranged herself in her bunk.

_Right down to business. Never mind whether or not I want to talk?_ Margaret knew her own thoughts were silly. Of course she wanted to. If only she knew how.

The doctor seemed to sense this. "I know it can be difficult to put words to our own thoughts sometimes. I'm just here to help you do that. It's no reflection on your marbles, or lack thereof, Major."

"Well if you're going to be poking around inside my head, at least call me Margaret."

"Only if you return the favour."

"Okay Margaret."

Sidney chuckled. "Well I can see your sense of humour hasn't suffered any."

Margaret smiled wanly back, trying to conjure up some enthusiasm for her own joke but Sidney saved her the trouble by turning serious again.

"Tell me, what happened out there?"

Margaret hesitated. She knew Sidney was a great listener but the words refused to pass her lips. Instead she shrugged in a vain attempt to seem nonchalant.

"Alright. Let's forget the details for now. Just tell me what's happening in here." He tapped his fingers gently to her temple.

This question proved even harder to answer. _How can I explain it to someone else, I don't even know._

"I hear you've been a little flat lately. Lacking in passion. 'Lost your pizzazz' were the Colonel's words."

"'Hopeless grief is passionless.'" Margaret was surprised at the sound of her own voice but felt satisfaction at finally being able to offer some response, however cryptic.

Sidney looked thoughtful for a moment. "Browning, right?"

_A psychiatrist who's familiar Victorian poetry, how unique._ She admonished herself silently for imposing on Sidney the same preconceptions people often had of her.

"It's been a while." He cleared his throat and began awkwardly. "'Only men half-taught in anguish, beat upward to God's throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach.'" With raised eyebrows, the doctor looked to Margaret for approval.

She smiled indulgently. "Close."

Poetry had always been a secret pleasure of hers, Browning in particular. The romance and passion that could be conveyed with a few well chosen words had shone wondrous light into her colourless world. A strict army father and a detached drunk for a mother made for a cold household. They loved her, they even loved one another in an odd way, but with a dull, dutiful love. Neither could understand her fascination with the riddles she recited to them and it was a very young Margaret who learned to spout military guidelines on command and devour whimsical verse in private. Two weeks of trying to express what was in her heart had proved fruitless and yet, in two minutes, an old friend had given voice to her desolation. It seemed appropriate. Glancing up, Margaret found the psychiatrist studying her intently.

"Thankyou Sidney."

"I haven't done anything yet." Despite his words there was a small grin on the corners of his lips and Margaret could tell he had witnessed the shift in her mindset. He pushed out of his chair and made to leave. "You look tired; I think that's enough for now. Maybe I'll come back later and you can tell me what it is you're grieving for."

She put her hand out to stop him. "Major… Sidney. People, they don't usually quote poetry with me." _They don't expect I can._

His eyes sparkled as he turned back towards her. "I can't imagine why not Margaret. You seem quite knowledgeable to me." With a kindly smile, he left her to her thoughts.

-o-

"You know buddy, there are easier ways to get yourself a couple of weeks in Tokyo." Hawkeye was helping his wheelchair bound friend to pack a small duffel bag for his temporary transfer to the land of the rising sun.

"Now you tell me." BJ knew Hawkeye was trying to cheer him up but the prospect of spending two weeks recovering in a drab army hospital, surrounded by strangers and confined to his bed or a wheelchair left little room for cheer in BJ's mind. At least he would have a couple of days to explore the city once the casts came off. Assuming, of course, that the doctors in Tokyo were less protective than those at the 4077th. He wondered rashly if he should ask Hawkeye where a lonely soldier could go to have a good time, immediately hating himself for such a thought. _Although, none of the other married men round here seem to think it's wrong._

"Beej, what's up? You're even broodier than the time Charles accidentally threw out the hair you found in Peg's fudge."

Hawkeye's concern was touchingly sincere but BJ wasn't in the mood for sharing.

"You know me. Broody is my middle name."

"Your parents had real problems with the whole naming thing, didn't they? You want this?" The dark-haired doctor held up BJ's smartest shirt.

_What the hell. Be reckless. _"Yeah throw it in." This was apparently a test because instead of stuffing the shirt into the bag along with BJ's other abused possessions, Hawkeye dropped down on the cot in front of his friend.

"Did something happen out there?"

"Something other than being attacked by a sniper, run off the road and lost in the cold and the wet?"

"Yes. Other than that."

_You mean like kissing a good friend? Betraying my wife. Again. Questioning whether she'd even care. Whether I do._

"No."

Hawkeye studied his friend's face for a minute longer then carefully folded the shirt he was still holding and placed it back in BJ's footlocker.

The blonde man felt a rush of affection for his friend. Fighting past the sudden lump in his throat he started to speak. "Hawkeye, I…"

A knock at the door cut short the imminent confession and Radar poked his head inside. "Sir?"

"Yes Radar." Both doctors responded curtly.

"Ah, not you sir. He sir."

"Me sir?"

"You sir."

"Who sir?"

Hawkeye grinned at Radar's baffled expression but the diminutive corporal, accustomed to such lunacy from his superiors, quickly recovered. "Colonel Potter said Major Freedman would like to see you in his office, Hawkeye. The Colonel's not the Major's, since he doesn't have one."

"Okay Radar. I'm promoting you to official bag-packer. Don't take any cheek from Captain Grumpy over here and make sure he takes his toothbrush."

Radar's proud grin withered quickly in the face of BJ's irritation. "Uh – sir…"

With a sigh, BJ followed his friend's retreating back across the compound. "Toothbrush is over there Radar."

It would be nice to be able to sulk in peace for a change. _Tokyo__ here I come. _

**AN: For those of you who would like to know (and so that her ghost doesn't haunt me tonight for ****plagiarism**) the poem mentioned, and somewhat butchered, by Margaret and Sidney is 'Grief' by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Hope you enjoyed this installment and as always please review!


	14. Chapter 14

"I'm fine, really."

Hawkeye had arrived, at Sidney's suggestion, to escort Margaret on the short walk to lunch but she was proving an even more unwilling patient than usual.

"Please Captain. I don't need you to prop me up all the time. I can walk on my own."

"Indulge me? It does my reputation wonders to be seen with a beautiful woman on my arm."

Margaret didn't look impressed but she obliged, leaning gently on the proffered elbow as they made their way unhurriedly between the tents.

"I understand Sidney visited you earlier." Hawkeye's heart was thumping, his mouth dry. He felt as though the past two weeks had been building up to this moment and how he handled it was critical. He wished his voice sounded less like a ten-year old girl's. It had taken on that note of forced cheeriness far too often of late.

Margaret looked like she was going to say something but in the end closed her mouth and nodded.

"Potter's got him talking to the whole camp. Wants to make sure everyone's coping after… well, you know."

"Major Freedman is very good at his job. We're lucky to have him."

"Don't I know it. I'm one of his best customers. Just mention my name and he'll do you a great deal on a lobotomy."

"No thanks." _No thanks? I wasn't serious toots. _Sidney's prognosis had been that by suppressing her emotions, Margaret was also suppressing who she was. _A fiery, opinionated pain in the arse whom we all care about_. Someone needed to help her let go before they lost that women forever and Sidney seemed to think her friends were best suited to this task. Hawkeye wasn't entirely sure he qualified as a friend right now. He certainly wasn't having any luck getting her to open up. He hesitated now, unsure where to take the floundering conversation. He knew where he wanted it to go but couldn't see a delicate way of broaching the subject. _There's always the direct route._ Pulling her to a stop outside the mess tent, he plunged straight into the deep end of an icy pool.

"Margaret, will you please talk to me. I'm sick of being frozen out by everybody. I know I didn't handle… everything brilliantly but I really wish you could forgive me already." He had intended this to sound encouraging and gentle but his frustration, both with her coldness and BJ's distance, made the words hard.

"Forgive you?" Margaret was frowning at him in confusion. "This has nothing to do with you, Hawkeye." _Well I'm Hawkeye again. That's a start._

"Really? Because it feels like you're punishing me here. And it seems to me that our … that night is what started all of this."

"That's quite arrogant and self-centred." Hawkeye would almost have welcomed this assessment of his character, had it been delivered with her usual fire. Instead it was a flat, emotionless observation. "Do you really think you have such an impact on my life?"

"Why can't you trust me then?" Hawkeye could feel his anger rising to meet the overwhelming tide of Margaret's indifference. When she offered no answer he pushed forward, resolutely ignoring the warning voice in his head. "Why can't you just say it? I know you want to. I know you've been thinking about it for weeks." The head nurse looked slightly alarmed but her doctor continued to rant, his grip on her arm tightening. "Say it, Margaret, just say it! You shot someone." The alarm in her face turned to wide-eyed fear as those three words settled like lead between them.

"How…?"

"Well you did, didn't you? Why is that so hard to tell me? If nothing else I thought we could at least be honest with one another. I thought maybe we were friends."

"We are-"

"Friends trust each other!"

"But you hate killing so much and the way you looked at me, through me, that was bad enough. I couldn't stand…"

He ignored the pleading note in her voice. "Oh, right. Blame me again. That's typical."

"You were the one who just thought it was all about you."

"What was I supposed to think? You won't talk to me; you won't look at me straight. I can't believe you thought I wouldn't understand. Even after all this time, you really don't know me at all!"

"Right, because you make it so easy. Hawkeye Pierce, the great pretender. Hiding behind the jokes and the lines and that strict moral code. It's no wonder you're still alone."

They stepped slightly away from each other, both shocked that she had actually said that. When Hawkeye finally spoke, his voice was dangerously low.

"I'm alone because I choose to be alone."

"You mean because you always run away when there's any danger of falling for someone."

"Oh sorry, I forgot that you're the poster girl for successful relationships. As if Frank Burns wasn't enough of a worm you were so desperate not to be alone you went and married an even bigger one." This time he knew he'd crossed the line. Startled gasps and whispers ran through the small group of onlookers forming nearby. Hawkeye winced at his own stupidity and at the tears that were forming in those beautiful blue eyes.

"Margaret…" He reached out a hand but she pulled away and disappeared into the crowd. _Smooth, Pierce. Real smooth._

-o-

He knocked nervously on the door of her tent. No reply. Hesitating briefly, he stepped inside.

"I don't remember saying 'come in'." She was sitting at her desk, her back to the door.

"You didn't. I thought since you were out it was a perfect opportunity to rifle through your underwear."

"What do you want?"

"To apologise." No answer. Why did she always make him do all the work? "That was a really low thing to say. Especially in front of everyone." _Not that you were patting my back and calling me Superman._ "It just frustrates me that you keep acting so stupid."

"Did anyone ever tell you, you're rotten at apologies?"

"I don't get much practise… You know, because I'm right all the time?"

"If you have to explain it, your joke's a flop."

Hawkeye suppressed a smirk even though she wasn't looking. "I just mean you deserve better than these creeps. You do," he cut short her sceptical snort. "What you did…" He struggled to find the right words. Even for Margaret's sake he was finding difficult to justify any form of killing. _Don't be an idiot. Would you prefer she was dead?_ "This is a war. People die. People get killed. By other people. And those people are usually trying not to get killed themselves. It _is_ lousy. I can't say this is all okay but it doesn't make you a bad person. And I have no right to look down on you." She half turned in her seat, inviting him to continue although he didn't know what else she wanted to hear. "I've done things I'm not proud off too. I'm no saint."

Margaret's agreement with this statement was momentarily written all over her face, reminding him of the women he so enjoyed locking horns with. "True, but have you ever shot someone? Killed someone?" Only the seriousness of her question kept him from smiling at the burgeoning fire in her eyes. "You can't possibly imagine what it feels like to watch another life slip away knowing you're responsible. I put my survival before someone else's, a boy's. A boy who probably had a mother, a father, family, friends, maybe a sweetheart. Is my future more important than his?"

"I don't think that soldier was exactly putting your survival first. He shot you too Margaret."

"After I shot him." Her voice quavered and the eyes that finally met his were awash with long-awaited tears. "Only after I shot him."

As the tears began to flow faster, Hawkeye risked enveloping the sobbing nurse in his arms, murmuring reassurances into her hair. She offered no resistance.

-o-

BJ drummed his fingers impatiently on the arm of his chair. Radar had disappeared over half an hour ago to organise the captain's jeep and the ailing doctor was getting very bored, abandoned in the Swamp. He allowed himself a moment of indulgent self-pity before the door finally opened again.

"Sorry I took so long sir." Radar came bustling back into the Swamp. "Mail just came in."

"That's nice Radar but couldn't you sort it after I'm on my way to Tokyo."

"Well yes sir, I could sir, but I thought you might like this." The young man held out a thick looking package. BJ's heart began to thump. It had to be… He seized the parcel greedily and ripped at the brown paper. Sure enough, inside he found a small bundle of letters tied neatly together with a length of blue ribbon. _My favourite._ There had to be five, no six, and all with the beautiful cursive of his beautiful wife. He ran his fingers reverently over the first one, lifting it to his face to inhale any traces of her which had survived the long journey.

"I'll just go see about that jeep now sir." Radar left with a triumphant grin that was not entirely lost on BJ. _The little devil. He notices more than he lets on._ Turning his attention back to the long-awaited correspondence resting in his hands, he carefully opened the first with trembling fingers.

"_My Dearest BJ…"_

Tears of relief obscured the rest of the letter and he laughed nervously brushing them away. Until this moment he hadn't realised quite how much he missed his wife. He knew that he missed her warm body beside his, the sound of her laughter. He missed her apple tea cake and the way her hair glowed in the California sunsets. He even missed the little crease she got in her forehead when he'd done something to displease her. Now though he realised what it really meant to miss someone. With even the tenuous link of her letters denied to him, he had lost himself wholly in an unsettling cloud of confusion. Three little words and he was restored.

"_My Dearest BJ…"_

**AN: Well there it is folks. I think the next chapter will be last. Do I hear sighs of disappointment? Hey you in the back! Stop cheering. Anyway, thanks for tuning in. Hope you like it and I'd love to hear from you. (It's the little button to the left down there.. hint hint).**


	15. Chapter 15

"Come on, Radar. How long can this take!"

"Hey! It's not easy trying to call someone yesterday night when it's today day. We have to go Seoul to Tokyo, Tokyo to Honolulu, Honolulu to Chicago, then New York, Denver, Phoenix and finally – Hello, San Francisco? I'm calling from Korea- … Korea! As in Asia. … There's a war on. Hold on for Captain Hunnicutt." Radar pushed the receiver towards the anxious Captain. "Sheesh, she needs to get out more."

BJ, who was still shaking his head at the completely nonsensical explanation Radar had offered, found himself clutching the receiver and shouting his home telephone number to an irritable, dull witted but wonderfully San Franciscan operator. "It's ringing," he said, as much to himself as the hovering Corporal. The arrival of his wife's letters had done wonders for BJ's spirit but a defiant part of him refused to surrender to this happy ending. The sensible portion of his brain had decided to show this cynical faction just what a wonderful woman they had waiting for them. Wilfully clinging to insecurities and distrust would do more damage than any number of sniper fuelled car accidents.

"Come on… Peg? Peg! Oh, sweetheart- … No, no. I know it's late. … Honey… honey! … I'm sorry I worried you- Peg, we've only got a couple of minutes, let's not argue." The Californian rolled his eyes at Radar as he listened to his wife's concerned rant. It was not exactly the way he had intended the call to go but there was joy radiating from his very core as Peg regaled him with the outlandish tales of tragedy she had managed to concoct during the short dash to the telephone. _Perhaps not so outlandish, considering._ He could clearly see the frown which would, this very moment, be creasing her brow. His frown. "What's that? … Am I alright? Absolutely. Just a cold really. … I just… wanted to hear your voice… I miss you too, sweetheart. How's Del? It was nice of you to help her on the farm but you know how I feel about that place. … Well it's _not_ safe is it? You got flooded in. … Yes I know she keeps it stocked up but what if you'd needed to get to town? … Well next time remember to post your letter before you leave… Worried? Me? No, no. It's just good if I know where you are."

"Sir, we gotta get going," Radar reluctantly interrupted.

BJ waved his hand in impatient acknowledgement. Peg's admonishment had turned to defiance as she explained that Great Aunt Del couldn't very well run a farm with a broken ankle and acts of god such as widespread flooding could hardly be foreseen. As quickly as it had flared up, her anger was gone and she was apologising for forgetting, amidst all the travel preparations, to post the letter explaining where she would be. "Peg, I'm sorry honey. I have to go… I know it's not long enough. Give Erin a big kiss for me."

"Sir, the jeep…"

"Oh and honey…listen, honey! I love you. … You too. Sleep tight."

Replacing the phone, BJ allowed himself to be wheeled outside, a goofy grin plastered on his face. "Boy, that woman can talk."

Hawkeye was waiting by the jeep, a distracted frown on his face. Spotting BJ, the frown turned to a relieved grin.

"You're not the man I thought we were sending to Tokyo. I had Radar make reservations for a gloomy, distracted, wet blanket. Don't tell me we have to change them."

"Change away. She's still there, Hawk! It was all just a silly mistake. Her great aunt Del broke her ankle in a soapbox derby. Silly woman is as old as time itself and still acts like a teenager. Then there was a flood so they couldn't get to town to post anything. She meant to post a letter before she left and she wrote every day while she was there. Then when she got home and found the first letter still on the kitchen table, she just put them all together and sent them off. It's all okay." He finished in a delighted rush.

Hawkeye looked as though he'd just been treated to one of Radar's explanations of army protocol but he smiled indulgently and shook BJ's hand. "Glad to hear it, buddy. Whatever 'it' was."

'_It' was my just life falling back into place._ Despite spending most of the time being scolded and barely uttering two words, the call had been a perfect success. Peg was still Peg. Intelligent, independent and faultlessly honest. It was BJ who had betrayed her and although she'd never know of his disloyalty, she would receive the best apology he could muster up from half way around the world.

BJ waved goodbye to Hawkeye and Radar as the jeep pulled away. He was mildly surprised to see Margaret standing in the door of her tent, offering a hesitant smile of farewell but his mind was already racing ahead of him to Tokyo. He hoped he'd have a chance to visit the city. Peg deserved a present; something beautiful. _Tokyo, here I come._

-o-

Margaret watched as the coffee oozed into her cup and then turned to survey the mess tent. Spotting Hawkeye sitting alone in a corner, she took a deep breath and weaved her way over to him. She'd always thought he looked slightly lost without his best friend and the past few days had been no exception. Sliding into the seat across from him, she smiling uncertainly. It was a relief when he looked up, blue eyes twinkling pleasantly.

"You shouldn't be drinking that in your condition." He nodded to the sludge in her cup. "Then again, I shouldn't be drinking it in my condition either." With a grimace, he downed the grey dregs and clapped the cup down on the table.

"Big night?"

"The biggest. Double shift in post-op followed by two hours in the ear-splitting company of Charles and his gramophone. I ended up falling asleep in the Officer's Club with a martini for a pillow. It was quieter there."

Margaret chuckled into her cup, aware that those piercing eyes were studying her intently.

"I really am sorry about everything, Margaret. I never meant to hurt you." His apology was delivered with such childlike sincerity she had to fight the urge to laugh and pat his head. _How can he look so deceivingly innocent?_

"It takes two to tango." The cliché sounded absurd to her ears but Hawkeye just grinned impishly, all trace of innocence gone from his features. _Such expressive features._

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" This was more the man she knew.

"Thanks, Hawkeye."

His face shifted again, this time revealing his surprise. "For what?"

"You're a better listener that I gave you credit for."

Reaching across the table he wrapped his hand around hers. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Or I will be. Sidney's going to keep in touch but … well, I know that if I need to talk I won't have to look too far."

"Well my fees are higher than Sidney's but I'm available anytime, day or night."

She studied his face, trying to recall if it had always been so easy to read or if this was the product of their familiarity.

"We're good friends, Hawkeye. And I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have made such a big deal of everything. I mean, it's not as though we could fall in love over one drunken night." _Two years of living together on the other hand…_She forced her mind back to what she knew had to be said. "I still have a husband and a marriage, no matter how flawed they both are. I need to work that out without giving in to silly notions or chasing after the first man who shows any interest. So… sorry. It wasn't fair to put you in that position." For the first time since she'd sat down, Margaret was having difficulty discerning what her companion was thinking. She thought she saw disappointment cross his face or possibly anger. He obviously agreed with her. She had been a pain. Somehow this realisation didn't bother her. They were still sitting across from one another, drinking this insult to the name of coffee and sharing a meaningful conversation. Things were looking up.

"I meant to ask, how did you know about what I did? I didn't even tell BJ."

"One of the GIs in the search party stumbled across the soldier. It was clear somebody had tried to save his life. Someone with medical experience. Maths isn't my forte but two and two I can usually manage."

To her frustration, Margaret could feel tears welling up again. Sometimes she didn't think she'd ever be able to escape the boy's dead eyes and the sticky warmth of his life forcing its way through her fingers.

"It's okay, you can cry. It's like what Sidney said. 'If she could weep, she could arise and go.'"

Sidney might have said it to Hawkeye but it was a dead Victorian woman who had first said it to Margaret. Despite the graceless delivery, the sentiment was there and the crying nurse couldn't help but laugh through her tears. "Do you know what that is, Pierce?" He shook his head curiously. "Poetry." Smiling contentedly, she picked up the cold coffee. "That was poetry."

-o-

Margaret's eyes finally sparkled with the vibrancy they had once known. There was still a shadow lingering behind the sunny blue but he had a feeling that shadow was reflected in his own eyes and the eyes of everyone who had witnessed things nobody should ever have to. Blood, death, destruction. The grisly products of hatred.

Afraid he may begin to cry himself, Hawkeye glanced nervously around the mess tent. Margaret's hand slipped from his own, as their attention was caught by the figure now entering the swinging doors. Tall, handsome and far too self-assured. Hawkeye muttered a curse under his breath as the man began moving towards their table.

"Margaret, sweetheart!" Donald knelt beside her bench and scooped one of her hands up in both of his. "I was so worried about you."

"Yes, we've all been worried about her too. For the last few weeks." Hawkeye could feel his blood boiling but catching Margaret's warning look he shut his mouth and stood up to leave. It had been a tumultuous period for everyone. Despite the easy connection he still shared with Margaret, he felt distinctly uneasy about his own behaviour. While agonising over taking advantage of one friend's heartache, however inadvertently, the surgeon had managed to completely overlook the pain another good friend was enduring. It was only after BJ was on his way to Japan that Radar had explained the Californian's recent mood to his best friend. Hawkeye wasn't going to make that mistake again. Ignoring the man who was sliding onto the bench beside her, the dark-haired doctor gave Margaret a pointed look. "Anytime." She nodded her appreciation before turning to her husband, the warmth in her eyes sharpening into dangerous sparks.

As he was exiting, Hawkeye turned back for one last look at the couple. Donald was obviously simpering, his face a pathetic picture of false remorse. Meaningless words flowed like treacle from his mouth. Just as sickly sweet, just as difficult to stomach. Margaret, however, was sitting up tall, the anger on her face thinly veiled by a look of sarcastic pity. Poor Donald didn't stand a chance against the strength of that amazing woman. Glancing up, she gave him the briefest of wink and, although he was picture of calm friendship, Hawkeye felt his insides tighten with emotion. Something that had been simmering below the surface for a long time revealed itself with sudden clarity. _So help me god, I love the woman._ "Fancy that."

Hawkeye smiled in answer and left them to it.

Fin

**So there it is. I hope it doesn't disappoint anyone. I just wanted to offer a very big thanks to everyone who took time from their busy lives not only to read my humble work but to offer you're support, encouragement and opinions. I am eternally grateful. It's been a long road (I can't believe how long). This story has gone from being a distraction from uni assignments to a stimulus during the dull periods at work (but always a guilty pleasure to work on when I really shouldn't be). In some ways it is still the same story I envisioned all those years ago. In others it has taken on a life of its own (particularly BJ's story). I know I've lost reviewers along the way but, by being slow and lazy, I have also gained some wonderful readers towards the end, so thanks again.**

**Also, since I did it such a disservice in this story, I thought it only fair to include Browning's beautiful poem in full glory (and sans errors) for anyone who is interested.**

_**Grief**_

_Elizabeth Barrett Browning_

I tell you hopeless grief is passionless,  
That only men incredulous of despair,  
Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air  
Beat upward to God's throne in loud access  
Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness  
In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare  
Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare  
Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express  
Grief for thy dead in silence like to death—  
Most like a monumental statue set  
In everlasting watch and moveless woe  
Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.  
Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet;  
If it could weep, it could arise and go.


End file.
